Daddy's Home (16 page)

She called out, “Kristy? Kristy? Honey, I’m home, and I’ve got something special to tell you.”

No answer. Okay, what is she up to? That smell. God, what was that glorious smell? Onion, garlic, and maybe basil. What in the hell was going on? This kid didn’t even know how to boil water!

“Kristy!” She raised her voice an octave. An uneasiness began in her stomach.

She set her purse down on the clothes dryer, next to the back door. She walked down the hall into the dining room, the candlelight becoming brighter. This had to be a Bill ploy. He’d been begging her to take him back, even putting Kristy in the middle and getting her to join in on his sending flowers and cards to Lynne. If Kristy was a part of this . . .

As she entered the dining room, her mouth fell open. Her glass-topped table was lined with candles and flowers, elegant-looking food dishes sat displayed as if she’d entered a gourmet restaurant. “Kristy! Dammit! Get in here right now!”

Strong arms went around her waist. “Bill! Let me go! This is ridiculous. I am not happy, nor am I persuaded by your sick behavior.” She couldn’t turn around to see her ex’s face. Something didn’t feel right. “Bill?” She heard the shakiness in her voice, and blood surged through her nerve endings as she realized that whoever had his arms around her was not her ex. Bill wasn’t this tall, or this strong, as she’d discovered when she knocked him out the night he admitted that he had gambled away a good share of their savings. She struggled even harder as the realization came into focus that she did not know who this was.

Kristy. Where was Kristy?

“Darling, I’ve been waiting all afternoon for you to come home. How was your day?” The man placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.

She froze. Who was he? The weird thought that he was handsome crossed her mind. She wiped it away. “Who are you? Who sent you here? Did Bill put you up to this? You know what? I want you out of here. I’m calling the police. Where is my daughter?” Her words were tinged with fear, and each breath caught in her throat. She knew she was speaking out loud, but there was a sensation of not really hearing herself speak. It was like being in a tunnel where the words echoed back. She was reeling from dizziness.

“Now, is that any way to treat your loving husband?”

He locked his large hands around her neck, and stared into her eyes. His eyes were cold, hard, and nearly black.

Screaming with terror inside, Lynne realized this wasn’t a joke or a game. His eyes told her a story.

Being a nurse long enough, she’d seen a number of lunatics come and go, even testified once in a case when a patient had come into the ER with a knife and had sliced a large gash across her thigh. This man’s eyes told her that he was as crazy as that man had been, and from the surreal scene she was looking at in her dining room, probably more so.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“You know I really don’t like it when you refer to her as your daughter. She’s mine too. Kristy is being punished. She didn’t want to help me make dinner, and so I sent her to her room.”

Oh, God, no! What had he done with her child? “You sent her to her room?”

“Yes, of course! What else was I supposed to do? She’s at that age where we really need to be setting down a few more rules and making her follow them. I’m certain the next time around she’ll be more helpful.”

“Can I see her? It’s been a long day, and I missed her.” Lynne was getting the picture, and knew that the only possibility of getting away from him was to play his game.

“What about me? Didn’t you miss me?”

“Oh, um, sure I did. But you know how close Kristy and I are, and I only want to say hello,” she said, struggling to get the words out. She had to see her daughter, make sure she was okay, and still . . . She couldn’t bring herself to think that maybe he’d really harmed her. Maybe he was really a mental patient, and harmless. Maybe he had some deranged family need.

Lynne tried to hold back her tears. A sicko like this could be angered by a show of emotion.
Play it cool, stay
calm, focus
.
Get him to trust you
. All of the things she’d learned working in the emergency room flashed through her mind.

“Wow, this looks like a terrific dinner you’ve made, honey,” she said, trying to speak as calmly as possible.

“It is terrific. You are such a good wife. I thought that you deserved a fantastic dinner.” He picked up a glass of red wine, and without ever taking his hardened eyes off of her, he handed her the wine.

“Thanks,” she muttered. “I really should go in and change and say hi to Kristy.”

“Kristy, Kristy, Kristy,” his face reddened. “Are we back to her again?”

Lynne’s stomach coiled into a nauseated knot. What if he’d hurt her, molested her? Or worse. The idea of playing along with him was lost in those thoughts as terror took over. She wrenched out of his grasp and ran through the house screaming Kristy’s name. His footsteps pounded behind her. He didn’t say anything, but she knew she wasn’t going to get away from him. She reached Kristy’s room and flung open the door. “Oh, my God . . .” she whispered.

Her child was tied to her bed, blindfolded and her mouth duct-taped shut. Blood from her nose had dried into a trickle. A swollen blue bruise marked her check. Lynne gasped. She could see Kristy’s chest rise and fall, and was thrilled to see her begin to squirm at the sound of her mother’s voice. Lynne rushed to her and yanked off the blindfold and tape. She started to untie the ropes.

“Mama, no!”

Lynne turned around to see the frightening stranger behind her, his face in a purple rage. His eyes focused into angry slits.

“I told you she was fine,” he growled.

“You mother fucker!” she screamed, and her fist shot out. He grabbed it and stopped it before it ever connected, but she brought her knee up and got him in the crotch.

“You bitch! You ungrateful bitch!”

Lynne turned back to Kristy, pulled the ropes from her as hard as she could with a strength that she never knew she had. She grabbed her child’s hand, and while the psycho was hunched over, groaning in pain, they ran from the room. Nearing the front door, she screamed, hoping someone would hear her. As she reached out for the handle, she felt a heavy hand grab her from behind. Kristy screamed. He turned toward her, backhanded her and sent her flying across the room, where she hit her head smack against the brick fireplace.

“Kristy!” Lynne screamed. She knew her baby had probably been knocked unconscious by the blow. That would be the very least. Lynne knew that as surely as she knew right then that her world would never, ever be the same. A fist slammed into her cheekbone and she stumbled backward.

“I cannot understand you women!” he yelled. “I’ve had it with this shit!”

As Lynne tried to regain her balance and reach her child, he grabbed her and threw her to the ground, pinning her beneath him.

Over the next hour and a half she lost consciousness several times as she was forced to submit to obscene cruelties she didn’t think anyone could ever live through. And she was right. As she took her last breath of air, she prayed to God that when her child’s head had connected with the bricks on the fireplace that she’d died instantly. Because worse than what she’d had to suffer physically at the hands of the madman hunched over her was feeling the death of her soul at the thought that he might do the same things to Kristy. That he would torture her precious baby girl.

Let my daughter be dead already. Please let her be dead.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Holly fretted about what to wear. She changed three times before deciding on a sleek black dress, something that she had bought a couple of years ago for her dad’s retirement party. It was far more expensive than anything she usually bought. The bodice was tight fitting and lined with corset boning, the neck cut in a square line that was low enough to draw interest, but not so low as to appear cheap. She put on a pair of pumps, and after spending extra time on her makeup and hair, she was as ready as she’d ever get. She hadn’t had a date in years. The last time she had gone out, at her mother’s pleading, had been disastrous when the man she had dinner with made a few lewd suggestions about her handcuffs.

She had later told her mom as politely as possible that her best friend’s son was anything but a gentleman.

This was a whole different ball game. She liked Brendan, and her nerves fluttered within like they hadn’t since . . . well, since meeting Jack. Yes, those same butterflies had flown around in her belly when she’d met her future husband. Had she known the torment and heartache that marriage was to lead to, she’d have walked the other way. Maybe not. No, she wouldn’t have. Their marriage had been wonderful. Together they had created a dream of a child. But now she carried the deep mark in her heart left not only by his death, but by the violence of that death.

The doorbell rang and she shook off her morbid thoughts. Chloe beat her to the door, but knowing the rules, didn’t open it. She whispered, “You look soo pretty, Mommy.”

“Thank you, Chloe.” She opened the door to see Brendan standing there with a bouquet of pink roses and lilacs. He had remembered their conversation at Thanksgiving about favorite flowers when she had told him that she absolutely loved how fragrant lilacs were. “Wow! Thank you.”

Brendan handed her the flowers. Maddie bounded past the two of them. Meg followed her. They had agreed that the girls should stay at Holly’s for the evening, especially since Meg was Chloe’s new babysitter.

They quickly scattered to the back of the house.

After putting the flowers in a vase, Holly turned to look at Brendan. “Thank you again. They’re lovely.”

“And so are you.”

She knew she was blushing, but it felt pretty damn good. “You look wonderful yourself.” He did look great, dressed in a cream colored turtleneck with a nice pair of khaki slacks, topped by a tan suede sport coat.

After Holly explained the ins and out of the house to Meg and wrote down her cell number, they left for dinner.

Over a bottle of Beaujolais and a delicious French appetizer that Holly couldn’t pronounce, much less spell, she found herself relaxing. Until Brendan brought up her past.

“I assume you were married?”

Holly nodded and took a long sip of wine. Did he have to go there? “I was.”

“Well? I’ve told you all about my ex.”

“Not really. And do we really want to talk about the past?” She didn’t want to lay the truth on him yet. Once she did, she knew his smiling eyes would turn sympathetic, and the glittery feelings that were starting to come over her would quickly fade. She didn’t want to give up that lovely feeling, not yet. But he insisted on pressuring her to talk. “If you must know, my husband died when I was pregnant with Chloe.”

“Oh.”

Yep, there they were. The sad eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Now you do, and now can you see why I don’t want to talk about it?”

Brendan looked taken aback, possibly even hurt. “I’m a good listener, you know. I’ve traveled a rough road myself at times, and it seems to me maybe you should talk about it.”

“I’ve talked and talked about it.” That was a huge lie. Thinking to
herself
and talking to
someone else
were two totally different things. “Trust me, it’s in the past, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s time to move on.”

Brendan nodded. “I am not convinced, Detective Jennings, and if you ask me, I think you’ve been running from this for some time. Why get so defensive if it’s truly in the past?”

“Do you like discussing the people you’ve loved and then seen die?” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and reached across the table for the bottle of wine. He beat her to it and poured her another glass—this time only half full. Where was the chauvinism coming from? Was he pulling a power trip on her? Because if that were the case, she’d have to say
Sayonara, bud
.

“No, I suppose not, but there is a part of us that has a need to speak of the dead, especially the ones we loved, especially with someone who cares about us.”

“Listen, it’s our first date. I like you, and I know we’ve spent some great times together in the last few days, but I’m simply not ready to go there with you. I’m not ready to discuss Jack yet. Maybe sometime in the future.”

Brendan smiled. “I like that.”

“Like what?”

“That you indicated we might have a future. And I also like that you’re willing to say how you feel and tell me when to back off. But I still think you need to talk about your husband. Okay, maybe not now, but if we are going to have a future, then we should have that talk. Because, lady, I haven’t felt my heart beat so hard against my chest in ages at the sight of a woman, and I’m not saying that just because I’m feeling this nice vintage here . . .” He pointed to the bottle of wine. “What I’m saying is, if we’re going to plan on spending some quality time together, Holly Jennings, maybe consider a relationship . . . I want to be certain there are no ghosts sleeping with us.”